


La Petite Mort

by microwaveslayer



Series: 33 Ocassions for TF2 Guro [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Decapitation, Guro, M/M, Murder, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 17:22:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8632084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwaveslayer/pseuds/microwaveslayer
Summary: Spy thinks it would be waste not to completely dominate his choice of prey.





	

Spy embedded his knife into the corpse’s chest with a dull _thunk._ He stood up, pulling a cigarette from his case and lighting it. Looking down and exhaling a long stream of smoke, Spy considered his work. The wound across the throat had mostly clotted by now. Slitting throats, Spy thought to himself, was much harder than simply stabbing someone in the back and darting into the firefight again.  
He took another drag from his cigarette and nudged the corpse flat onto it’s back. Glassy blue eyes stared past Spy.  
He flicked his cigarette into the darkness before kneeling and pulling his knife free. For a moment, he spun the knife around, closing it before opening it back up.  
“Such a pretty face,” he taunted. “And lovely blue eyes, strong jaw . . .”  
He swung the handles around, opening the knife again. Tracing the edge, Spy thought about it. Surely the doctor or engineer could work something up, a sort of insult to mortal injury. Then he shook his head, grabbing the corpse by the hair.  
Spy did it by feeling, mostly. Skin and muscle came apart with enough force but the vertebrae were harder to separate. He used more force, hearing a creaking followed by a snap and, for one long moment, thought the blade had snapped. He looked down to find he’d cut through it all, leaving head severed from body.  
Reaching down, Spy picked up the head and looked it over, considering.  
He unzipped his slacks, a shiver running up his spine. He was a professional, but sometimes professionals left calling cards. Besides, it wasn’t anything Respawn couldn’t fix. He shifted, using one hand to pull his slacks down enough to avoid making too much of a mess.  
Turning the head over in both hands, he examined it. By now, the skin had gone cold, the blood had stopped dripping in favor of clotting. In a few hours, Spy knew, the thing would be swarming with insects.  
He thrust into the throat, tensing at the resistance. He felt bone grind against his own skin, a wholly unpleasant feeling. If only the muscle would contract, he would be done in a few short seconds.  
Instead, he looked down at the glassy blue eyes, enjoying the feeling of violating someone so intimately. Air escaped in wheezes from the slack jaw and Spy could pretend they were soft little whimpers of pleasure. Every thrust brought him closer to release.  
He tensed.  
He shuddered.  
He went slack for a long moment.  
The lips were painted off-white. The clotted blood had left smears against his hips in places, flaking away in drier spots. Spy peeled the head off, letting it drop.  
It rolled, but Spy had already fixed his clothing. He turned, not bothering with a cloak as he crept back to his base.  
His job was done.


End file.
